


Tailings

by tkayo



Series: Mirrors of Loathing [3]
Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, Wax and Wayne Series - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Established Relationship, Extended Scene, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tkayo/pseuds/tkayo
Summary: tail·ings  |  ˈtā-liŋs  |  nounResidue left over after the process of extracting the desired materials from an ore.(Or, bonus and deleted scenes from Eutexia)
Relationships: Misra (Mistborn)/Ranette (Mistborn)
Series: Mirrors of Loathing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809268
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. BONUS: Where Does She Get Those Wonderful Toys?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about three months before the beginning of Bands of Mourning/Calamine

The door swung open, to reveal a shotgun barrel pointed straight at Marasi’s head.

She froze, her life flashing in front of her eyes. 

“Oh, it’s just you.” The barrel lowered slightly, revealing the scowling face of Ranette. “No Wayne?” 

“No Wayne,” Marasi confirmed weakly.

Ranette grunted, and lowered her shotgun. “Sorry about that. Had to be sure.”

Marasi took a deep breath, adrenaline still flooding her system. “...you’d really have shot him?”

“He’d get better.”

“True,” Marasi acknowledged, “but it still seems awfully rude.”

Ranette snorted. “ _Rude_ is constantly hitting on me and stealing my shit. Every time he walks out of here alive, I figure I’m exercising the highest courtesy.”

She took a step back, clearing the doorway, and cocked her shotgun again. The unfired round came spinning out, before changing directions in mid-air and zipping towards Ranette’s chest, where she caught it in one hand.

“S’pose you oughta come in, then,” she said.

Marasi nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. Ranette still wore boots inside, so she kept hers on, and followed the other woman into her workshop. The space looked mostly the same as when Marasi had last seen it, during the whole mess with the Vanishers, but there were some new pieces of machining equipment that Marasi couldn’t begin to guess the function of, and significantly more scorch marks on the ceiling.

“So,” Ranette said, settling her shotgun in a rack by the doorway, “you got something for me?”

“Ah, yes,” Marasi said, rummaging around in her coat for a moment. She found the small bag with the shells in it, and pulled it out. “Did Wax mention I’d be coming by?”

Before she could hand the bag over, it zipped out of her hand and into Ranette’s. “Might’ve done,” she said. “Didn’t say much, in general.”

Marasi frowned. “...I don’t suppose he would’ve, no.” The last few months since the Bleeder case had been… uncomfortable, to say the least. For the first month, he’d barely spoken at all. Even when he’d started working again, he’d thrown himself back into it to an almost fervent degree, and the return to relative normalcy had only lasted as long as there was a mystery to solve or a criminal to hunt. 

“Mm,” Ranette agreed sourly. “He say anything about these, then?” She held up the bag, jingling it.

Marasi nodded. “He said to tell you… I believe the exact wording was ‘the powder sagged, unbalanced the round’. Does that mean anything to you?”

Ranette hissed through her teeth. “Drat. Should’ve spotted that. Y’mind waiting a moment?” Before Marasi could even reply, she had already turned to her workbench, pulling out tools and muttering to herself.

Marasi sighed, glancing around the room. _I suppose I’m waiting, then._ Truthfully, she didn’t have much else planned for the rest of the day.

After a few minutes of Ranette remaining firmly in her trance, Marasi started to wander around the workshop, eyeing the various pieces of equipment and half-assembled firearms that lay about. 

A strange looking weapon on one of the benches caught her eye, and she stepped over to take a closer look. 

At a first pass, it looked almost like a sawed-off shotgun - it had the same short, stocky profile. The barrel hadn’t just been shortened, however, but was absent entirely - the firing piece ended shortly after the chamber, and there were strange grooves and divots on the front surface. Also unlike a sawn-off shotgun, it had a stock - the grip was closer to the middle than the end, and seemed very clearly designed to rest against the shoulder.

“Oh, you found Val. ” Marasi turned around to find Ranette had finished her work. “Pretty slick, huh?”

“To be entirely honest,” Marasi admitted, “I’m not entirely certain what it is.”

“ _She_ was actually the first prototype of Vindication,” Ranette explained, taking the strange half-rifle with obvious care. “Realised halfway through that a cylinder would be better, ended up starting over with a revolver instead. Valediction here turned into my tinkering gun instead, for when I had some spare time and idle hands.”

“Valediction... Oh, as in Valette? That’s... quite clever, actually.”

“No need to sound _so_ surprised,” Ranette said wryly. “She’s a nice little rifle, she is; not quite as fancy as Vindication, but solid all the same.”

“Excuse the silly question,” Marasi said, “but if it’s a rifle, where’s the barrel?”

Ranette grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

From a drawer behind her, she retrieved a long piece of metal, which quickly revealed itself to be the barrel for the rifle as she attached it to the front of the gun. There were a rapid series of hefty _clicks_ as it locked into place, and suddenly the whole shape of the rifle seemed to come together.

With the barrel attached, it was shorter and stockier than a standard bolt-action, with a strange double-bored construction, almost like a shotgun. Under closer observation, the lower of the two barrels was slightly wider and thicker, and had its own side-loading chamber in the body of the gun.

“Is that where the hazekiller rounds are loaded?” Marasi asked, indicating the second chamber.

“Yep. Well-spotted, tineye.” Ranette spun the gun around, offering it to her.

Marasi hesitated, but Ranette gave her an encouraging nod that spurred her on. She immediately checked the standard chamber upon taking it, making sure it was unloaded, and then inspected the hazekiller chamber as well, which required slightly more fiddling.

“The weight is… interesting,” she commented, bringing it up into a firing position towards a dummy Ranette had set up at one end of the room. “Not unwieldy, but it would definitely take some getting used to.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s where I got the idea for the Invarian steel in Vindication. First model of this one, you could barely lift it.” Ranette grinned, the expression lighting up her face in a way that Marasi had never seen before. “Wanna take her for a quick burn?”

“O-oh,” Marasi stammered, distracted by her smile. “Sure, I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit.” After a few moments of rustling around, Ranette produced some earmuffs, goggles, and a rifle magazine, and showed Marasi how to load the latter in. The single-loading chamber, she explained, was to facilitate easier use of hazekiller rounds, but it was also perfectly capable of firing in a semi-automatic fashion from a magazine.

“Vindication ended up being more of a Misting weapon,” Ranette continued as Marasi lined up her shot, “but the original idea was that she’d be able to handle most any kind of ammunition you loaded. Second chamber can handle shotgun shells, hazekillers, you name it.”

With a nod of approval, Marasi sighted the dummy and fired three times in rapid succession, ratcheting the bolt between each shot. All three hit dead-on the centre of the target.

“ _...goodness,_ ” Marasi commented, flicking the safety back on as she lowered Valediction. “That is _remarkably_ smooth.”

“Good, right?” Ranette grinned, tossing her a brightly coloured shell. “Try this one on for size, now.”

Marasi caught the shell and inspected it. It seemed like a fairly standard round in design, but it had been scaled up slightly, and the firing cap at the back was longer than she was used to. She already had a sneaking suspicion of what it was, so as she loaded it into the second chamber and sighted the target, she braced herself for the recoil.

The _boom_ of the gunshot was certainly louder, the gunsmoke thicker, but Marasi found the recoil surprisingly manageable in comparison, barely worse than the ordinary round had been. The target, on the other hand, had a thick hole torn through it, and there was a new scrape on the blast sheeting behind it.

“Pewterarm round?” Marasi guessed.

“Attagirl. Smooth, ain’t it?”

“Very,” she agreed fervently. “Certainly easier than firing one from Vindication seems. Can I ask why the barrel separates?”

“Failed experiment. Wanted to see if separating the pieces would only make one half affected by a speed bubble, but no alloy.”

“Mm. Any Bender or Pulser could’ve told you that, I’m afraid.” As soon as any object touched a speed bubble, the entire object was affected. 

“Oh, they did. Had to see it for myself. Still, makes it easier to transport, at least. I’ve got a case for it around her somewhere, and it's smaller than a briefcase.”

Now _that_ was impressive. The hardest part about being a riflewoman was the sheer inconvenience of carting one around with you, not to mention the looks it got you. Lord Waxillium, meanwhile, never went anywhere without his pistols, and after the close brush with Ironeyes she’d had on the Zinctails case last month, Marasi was starting to think about following his example. 

“Well,” Marasi said, “I have to compliment your workmanship; it- _she_ is a very fine weapon.” She went to hand it back over. 

“Damn right.” Then, instead of taking Valediction back, Ranette said something completely unexpected. “You can take her, if you like.”

Marasi blinked, not quite comprehending. “Take… the gun?”

“Sure,” Ranette said. “Field-test her. Same deal as I give Wax - don’t break her, don’t scratch her, bring me plenty of data for tune-ups. In fact-” She turned back to her desk and began rummaging. “You can test out some hazekillers for me as well. Got a few that I ain’t been able to fit in a revolver, so this’ll be good data.”

“But… why me?”

Ranette glanced over her shoulder, confused. “You use a rifle. Most don’t. Plus, you plainly aren’t an idiot, which already puts you ahead in my books.” 

“Oh, um- thank you.”

“Try not to prove me wrong. Ah, here we go.” She turned back around, bearing a small case of shells. “You can test these out to start.”

“What are they?” Marasi asked, curious despite herself.

“I call ‘em Choker rounds,” the other woman explained, tossing one to Marasi. She just managed to get Valediction out of the way in time to catch it in one hand, and used the other to awkwardly maneuvre the rifle’s strap over her shoulder as she inspected the shell. 

Shotguns weren’t something she had much experience with - to her eyes, it looked like a fairly standard shell, albeit with a strange, dark green colouration.

“What do they do?” she asked.

“Upgraded hazekiller for Tineyes, I’m hopin’.” She beckoned Marasi over to her workbench, while lighting a small burner. “This,” she said, holding up a small stick of what looked vaguely like chalk with pliers, “is the same stuff loaded into the rounds. And when it combusts…” she lowered it into the flame, where it immediately caught and began emitting thick, acrid smoke.

Marasi jerked away, coughing and spluttering as it entered her mouth and nose. It was all the worst parts of the smell of gunpowder, mixed together with a factory fire and the contents of a laboratory explosion.

Someone pressed a glass of water into her hand, and she downed it instantly, blinking furiously against the tears. The water washed the worst of it away, but the smell still lingered in the back of her throat.

“Rust and _ruin_ ,” she gasped, rubbing at her eyes. “That is… _truly_ foul.”

“Good, innit?” When she looked up, Ranette was grinning down at her. Marasi could see the ‘chalk’ had been dunked in a beaker of water on the workbench, ending the production of smoke. “Now imagine you’re a Tineye.” She took the glass from Marasi’s hand and refilled it at a tap a few steps away.

“I don’t even think you’d need to be one,” Marasi rasped, gratefully accepting the glass back. “Speaking as a lawman, I think you might have a genuine crowd control method on your hands there. I can’t imagine standing in that cloud for more than a few seconds, let alone yelling or fighting.”

Ranette raised an eyebrow. “Thought you were a solicitor?”

“Ah, I was, though I’m surprised you remembered that. But after the Vanishers case… I don’t know, I guess I wanted a more active role.”

“Ahh,” Ranette said knowingly. “Got its hooks in you, huh?”

“I suppose it did. Either way, I suppose if these work out in the field test, the constabulary might have some business for you.”

Ranette didn’t seem as excited as Marasi had expected at the prospect of more funds. “Hm. Just remember, then, there’s no actual round in there, so don’t go firing it and expecting to hit someone. You get a spout of about ten feet, and then dispersal from there. I’d suggest a test-fire, but…”

Marasi wrinkled her nose. “Yes, let’s not. How do you even _make_ those without wanting to vomit?”

Ranette tapped her nose ruefully. “Hon, I’ve spent over a decade working with gunpowder. I couldn’t smell a fart at a fishmarket.”

Marasi winced in sympathy. “That must be awful. Is your sense of taste affected too?”

“A little, but I don’t mind so much.” She smirked. “Mouth still does what I need it to.”

Marasi flushed, not naive enough to miss the obvious innuendo.

“Nettie,” an unfamiliar voice called from the next room, “are you flirting with customers again?”

Now it was Ranette’s turn to flush, even if only slightly.

Marasi turned in the direction of the voice, just in time to see a woman sweep into the room. She’d been made vaguely aware of Ranette’s… preferences, and her relationship status, but didn’t know much more than that. When she’d thought about it, purely out of idle curiosity, she’d had trouble picturing what the partner of someone like Ranette might be like. Someone similar in temperament, another rough-nosed, hard-edged woman? Someone her opposite, someone dainty and feminine and polite? Something else entirely? It was far from her area of expertise, and she spent a shameful amount of time thinking about it. 

The woman who had just entered was… not what she’d expected.

She was short for a Terriswoman, which meant she was about level with Marasi’s above-average, and had a round, cheery face untouched by cosmetics. Her brown eyes were bright, sparking with wit and humour, and the hair on top of her head trailed down to her neck in intricate braids, with the sides shaved completely down. Her clothes looked to Marasi like a modernised version of Terris robes - loose and flowing, with multiple layers in bright shades of yellow and gold - but she also wore a pair of practical work boots similar to Ranette’s. 

“Afternoon,” she said, leaning up to plant a quick kiss on Ranette’s cheek. “They were out of tuna at the shop, so I got you egg salad instead; it’s in the icebox.”

“Thanks,” Ranette said roughly, looking almost… embarrassed? “Misra, this is… Marasi Colms. She’s a friend of Wax’s.”

Misra turned to Marasi with a grin, sticking out a hand. “Ah, the infamous Miss Colms! Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise,” Marasi replied, taking her hand. “I’m sorry, but… ‘infamous’?”

Misra laughed, light and tinkly. “Oh, nothing like what you’re thinking, I assure you. Just that us Roughs-folk like to keep track of each other, and you were the first new person Wax had worked with since- well. You know.”

She did. “It’s not like that,” she added. “Just to be clear. I’m not- he’s not- _we’re_ not-”

“Relax,” Ranette said gruffly. “Not saying you were.”

“Anyway,” Misra continued breezily, “Nettie’s mentioned you a few times, is all.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m a gossip,” Ranette grumbled. “I said ‘Wax and Wayne are working with a new lady’, and ‘the new lady Wax and Wayne are working with brought in the Vanishers’. That’s it.”

“She’s a _terrible_ gossip,” Misra confided to Marasi behind a raised hand. “It’s unbelievable.”

“If you’re just going to badmouth me,” Ranette said, “I don’t see why you still need to be here.” But compared to her usual acerbic self, the gunsmith’s words were remarkably toothless, and Marasi could see one corner of her mouth flickering upwards.

“You hear that?” Misra said dramatically, holding a hand to her forehead and slumping against Ranette as if about to faint. “Woe, I am rejected, and shall die alone.” She smirked up at Ranette, who rolled her eyes. 

“Actor?” Marasi asked with a laugh. 

“Aspiring, sadly. I assure you, that wasn’t an accurate representation of my skills.”

“She’s good,” Ranette cut in brusquely. “Really good.” The aggression in her tone made it pretty clear that this was a touchy subject - for her if not for Misra herself, who mostly just seemed amused.

“I love it when you defend my honour,” she said fondly, patting Ranette on the cheek. “Doesn’t she look so cute when she’s all worked up?”

Marasi blushed, and exercised her right to avoid self-incrimination.

“Well,” Misra continued cheerily, “it was nice to meet you- oh, may I call you Marasi?”

“Gladly.”

“Then it was lovely to meet you, Marasi.” Misra flashed her a warm smile, and Marasi found herself having the strange thought that she could understand very well what Ranette could see in her. “Nettie, don’t let your sandwich sit in the icebox for too long, okay?”

Ranette grumbled something incoherent, and Misra reached up and tipped her chin down-

_Oh. Oh my._

Marasi knew she should look away from the _very_ passionate kiss the other two women were engaged in, but it felt as if her eyes were magnetised to them. She felt so hot it was almost painful, like something had set her stomach on fire and was twisting it into knots. 

After what felt like an eternity, Misra broke off the kiss, and winked at Marasi before sauntering out of the room. 

“So, er,” Ranette said, sounding almost as off-balance as Marasi felt, “let’s get you that case, then?”

“Yes,” Marasi agreed fervently. “Let’s.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> my brain is both halves of this image at all times  
> notes:  
> \- It's My Fanfic, And I Get To Choose Who Gets Cool Weapons  
> \- if wax gets one marasi gets one too i dont make the rules i just follow em  
> \- misra is literally just a name in canon, but to me it sounds more like a Terris name than the vaguely-french names of the white people, so i ran with that. if I make it through calamine and onto the sequels i have planned, she and ranette will be more prominent characters there  
> \- if ive gotten something wrong about guns in here, i don't particularly care tbh  
> \- *points at marasi colms* gay


	2. BONUS: Ars Arcanum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during Chapter 9 of Calamine

“Well- oop. Forgot about this part!” MeLaan let go of her hand and stepped away, and Marasi remembered just too late that this dance involved swapping partners.

Icy fear gripped her heart as she went through her steps, shuffling down the line. When she and MeLaan had been dancing, it was like they had been in their own little speed bubble, isolated from the rest of the room. Now that she was alone, though, she could feel people’s stares on her neck, judging her attire. 

Somehow, despite MeLaan leading before, she’d ended up on the men’s side of the dances, which was both a curse and a blessing - she was receiving even more stares now, but at least she wouldn’t have to dance with some strange man. 

_Just one dance, Marasi. Once you leave, you’ll never have to see any of these people ever again._

Hopefully.

Pretending she hadn’t noticed any of the stares or whispers, she stepped forward in time with the rest, offering her hand to the woman opposite her. Before she could take it, though, another woman swept in, cutting the first woman off so gracefully that she didn’t even have time to protest before the dance had moved on.

“Miss Colms, correct?” her new dance partner asked. Her Dominance was flawless, but with a tinge of a strange accent. She was Terris, but with a cool, almost blue undertone to her skin that Marasi wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before, and her tightly-braided hair was heavily streaked with grey.

“...who’s asking?” 

“No-one of importance, I assure you.” They continued through the dance. “Merely a curious researcher.”

“A researcher of… what, exactly?”

The woman grinned widely. “Why, the Metallic Arts, of course. Your Lord Ladrian has already been greatly helpful in some of my research, and you might be able to do the same. You are a Pulser, correct?”

“Wax- _Lord Waxillium_ is not ‘my’ _anything_ ,” Marasi protested hotly. “And how do you know who I am?”

“Nothing untoward, I promise,” she replied dismissively. “I’m familiar with your exploits from the newspapers, is all. Broadsheets, they’re called here? Either way, if you would be so kind as to answer a question for me, I shall take my leave and let you enjoy your evening.”

...well, Marasi admitted, there didn’t seem to be much harm in that. “Alright,” she said cautiously. “I can’t imagine I’ll be a particular unique source of insight, though.”

“No?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow. “You may not be aware, Miss Colms, but there are a significant portion of cadmium mistings who simply never use their Allomancy at all. And even amongst those who do, it’s mostly practical, everyday uses. It’s entirely possible that you are currently the only living Pulser using their metal in an offensive fashion.”

“I…” Marasi’s head spun, trying to process that. Surely there had to be others? It wasn’t as if she did anything _particularly_ unique. “...what was your question, then?”

“Ah, yes. Have you ever been exposed to emotional Allomancy while inside a bubble?”

Marasi thought back, trying to recall. “I… maybe? Oh, yes, once.” The rally where the Set’s Allomancers had been trying to incite a riot, she’d been using bubbles while on the edge of the effect.

“Excellent. Now, when you were inside the bubble, was the effect of the Allomancy stronger than when you were not?”

 _What?_ “I… no? I don’t think so, anyway. If anything, I seem to remember it being dampened somewhat?”

The woman grinned, almost feral in her excitement. “ _Fascinating._ So there _is_ interference, then.” She nodded her head solemnly. “Thank you, Miss Colms. You’ve been _incredibly_ helpful. If you ever feel like aiding the advancement of knowledge again, Lord Ladrian has my card.”

She stepped back, _bowed_ , and then turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Marasi standing partnerless and alone on the edge of the dancefloor.

_What a strange woman._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> embarrassing to admit but i just straight up forgot to include the Khriss cameo when I was writing Ch. 9, and I couldnt add it back in without having to do significant editing. still, this can be considered basically canon, just extraneous.


	3. BONUS: The Shotgun Speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after Chapter 14 of Calamine

“You two have become quite close, haven’t you?” Steris observed from behind her. “Friendship is such a wonderful thing.”

“Yes,” MeLaan said faintly as the two of them began following Marasi up the steps. “Wonderful."

“Hm?” Steris glanced up at MeLaan, only to find her staring after her sister. “Oh. Oh, I see.” She hummed happily.

“What?” MeLaan asked belatedly, whipping her head around. “What do you mean, ‘I see’, all smug like that?”

“That was not ‘smug’, that was ‘satisfied’.” Steris frowned. “Or, it was intended to be. Hm. What would you say made it smug rather than satisfied?”

“Well, it was mostly the high pitch and the almost sing-song quality- wait, no, that’s not the point! What are you talking about, Steris?”

“Oh, it’s only that I do believe I’ve failed my duties as a sister - not specifically as a sister, I suppose, but as a family member in general. I’m quite unused to the role, you see, and these things take time for me.”

“Steris,” MeLaan said cautiously, “what duties.”

“Ahem.” Steris cleared her throat, then turned to make eye contact with MeLaan. “What are your intentions towards my sister?”

MeLaan froze, one foot still in the air above the next step. Steris obligingly matched her, one step above her, bringing their eyes level. “...sorry,” MeLaan said slowly, “I think I must have misheard you.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Steris said. “You’ve evinced rather exceptional hearing quite a few times now. But, if you insist, I asked what your intentions were towards my sister.”

Slowly, deliberately, MeLaan set her foot down, face carefully blank. “...I’m sorry, is this… are you giving me the shotgun speech?”

Steris frowned, rifling through her mental index. “The... 'shotgun speech'?” After a few moments, she managed to summon up an old joke her father had told, fuzzy and half-remembered, from the years before it had all started to fall apart. “Oh, as in threatening a potential suitor if they should treat the suitee poorly? Archetypically, with a shotgun as the manner of threat?"

"...yeah, that's basically it."

"Oh, I do like that. Brutish, but quite evocative." Steris nodded, satisfied. "Then yes, this is the shotgun speech. I can ask Lord Waxillium to borrow one of his, if the physical instrument itself is a requirement?"

"No, that's not-" MeLaan sighed. "Look, Steris, I really think you've gotten the wrong impression here. I think of Marasi as a friend-"

"No," Steris interrupted sternly, "you do not.” She paused for a second. “Oh, I’m sorry, that was quite rude of me. Nevertheless, you are clearly engaged in _some_ kind of elaborate and bizarre courtship dance with my sister, and as such, as her only living family member I believe it necessary to take upon the duty of ensuring that your intentions are honest.”

MeLaan held up both hands, palms out. Steris was unsure if it was meant to convey ‘stop’, ‘you caught me’, or something else entirely. “What do you want me to say, Steris?”

“Well, ideally, you would say that you intend to do right by her. Then I could threaten you if you treated her poorly, and you can make some comment about how you’d have earned it if you did.” She tapped the cover of her notebook a few times. “At least, that’s the general formula that I’ve gathered.”

“Okay, leaving aside this… _theory_ of yours, you’re not… I don’t know, mad? You and her are both Survivorists, aren’t you? I got the impression they weren’t, y’know, _cool_ with that.” 

“Oh,” Steris agreed, “they are not. I’ve just never been a particularly devout believer. Survivorism, in case you weren’t aware, considers people like me ‘hereditary dead-ends’, and more fundamentalist denominations think we should be outright sterilised to avoid passing on our mental deformities to a new generation.” The words were said casually, as if discussing the weather. “Hardly surprising that I shouldn’t align too closely with the philosophy.”

MeLaan sighed. “...I wish I were more surprised by that, to be honest. I’m sorry, Steris, that sounds like a hard situation to grow up in.”

“It was. Thank you, regardless. I’ve always been rather… well, bullheaded, to be honest.” MeLaan opened her mouth to offer some token protest, and Steris waved her down. “No, no, I’m well aware. I don’t even consider it a particularly negative trait. It helped me, after all; pushed me towards digging my heels in rather than accepting the rhetoric.” She sighed. “My sister has always been more… eager to please. Or, no, not please, exactly. She strives to avoid attention and conflict, to be what other people want her to be. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, she’s rather bad at it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Here.” Steris flipped through her ever-present notebook until she found what she was looking for, then turned it around so MeLaan could see. It was a list of observations by date and time, all of which had to do with…

“Steris,” MeLaan asked slowly. “Did… did you make a list of evidence that supports your _sister being gay?!_ ”

“I make lists of evidence for everything,” Steris said. “It’s not specific to this.”

MeLaan quickly averted her eyes. “Okay, that is… _entirely_ too personal. Listen, if I say that _if_ there was anything going on, I would never try and intentionally harm Marasi, would that be enough to escape this conversation?”

“That would be sufficient, yes,” Steris agreed, closing her notebook.

“Great.” MeLaan frowned as a thought struck her. “Hey, Steris. You... don’t have those lists for anyone else, right?”

“Of course not,” Steris lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally the only reason i didnt include this in Calamine is that it broke from marasi's perspective, so consider it completely canon.


End file.
